


Among the Victims who died Something Wild has Survived

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [13]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon has more or less committed suicide by nowand i regret nothing, Caretaking, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fear, Gentleness, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I never promised consistancy, Injury Recovery, Insecurity, LITERALLY, Love, M/M, Memories, Ned is a brute, Not Canon Compliant, POV Alternating, Pain, Pirates are bad at feelings, Poetry, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Sorry Not Sorry, Talking, Temporary Blindness, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Weakness, What I'm doing anymore, World of Darkness, and Billy loves him, at all, because I keep ruining them, families, washing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21510808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: Oh yes, it's that time of the week again: me posting another Lowbones fic and this has gone way out of hand... So, this is more talk and less action, because well, Ned is badly injured and Billy takes care of him, which isn't too easy.Title is stolen from Children Of Bodom's song "Children Of Bodom".This is, of course, for you, E_A_Phoenix, and I MUST add that I'm feeling somewhat horrible for not having started on your latest gift (you're increadible, by the way!) since I've not had time to sit down and relax into reading mode, but I'm looking at it with longing eyes and I'm gonna dig into that delicously looking Gunnbones delight some time today!All the love to you, baby <3<3<3
Relationships: Billy Bones/Edward "Ned" Low, Ned Low/Eliza Marble (past) (mentioned)
Series: A Simple Man [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8





	Among the Victims who died Something Wild has Survived

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts).



**Billy Bones**  
Ned takes the news with calm, almost disregard. It could be due to the opium but he’s a strong man, his body constantly surprising Billy with it’s capacity to heal. His mind too, at least his thought process seems steadfast in reality. That his crew has forsaken him entirely, left Nassau with the Fancy weeks ago and now has been taken as a prize, the entire crew hanging as warning signs in it’s sails in Tortuga bay, doesn’t even make him twitch.  
  
“Pity. Lost my best… coat.”  
  
_Friend_ , was the word Silver seemed to have expected, since he’s looking surprised and there’s a cold grin from Ned.  
  
“The Guthrie woman got’em, I take it.”  
“No, it was Hornigold.”  
“Horny goat wha’?”  
“Hornigold, Captain of _Orion._ ”  
“Never heard o’ him.”  
  
Silver, for once, seems to have a hard time finding words and that’s always a sight to be seen. The quartermaster leans on his good leg in the doorway, looking at Ned who stills wears a blindfold to keep the light from hurting his remaining eye.  
  
“You just… lost your ship and your crew and your… best coat.”  
“Gonnae miss tha’ one. Ye don’ happen to know a good tailor around here, eh?”  
  
Silver looks at Billy as if saying _what’s the real issue with this man_ and Billy smiles. He’s sitting on the floor next to Ned’s bed, leaned back onto the wall without touching him and Silver just gives them both an exasperated look and throws his free hand out.  
  
“Well… Now you know.”  
“It’s appreciated, Mr. Silver. Now, if ye’re not terribly interested in watching, I’d like to take a piss.”  
  
Silver just turns around then and walks out.  
  
“Could ye, please, close the door?”  
“Of course.”  
  
Pissing in front of your mates is part of spending most of your time at sea, but Ned can’t stand up and Silver out of all people knows that feeling of helplessness more than most men. The quartermaster shuts the door and Billy brings the cursed chamber pot.  
  
He hates these proceedings almost as much as Ned does. It’s a hassle in itself with the weakness and pain, and added to that, is the intrusion of privacy. Billy is only feeding Ned liquids. Broth, water and ale, sips of rum for the pain and then some kind of brew made from boiled fruits and coconut milk that Read insists is good for the bowels. Ned hates it all except for the rum, but it seems to be helping with his strenght and it’s sparing him some pain while on the privy.  
  
In these moments, the blindfold truly is a blessing, not just to Ned but to Billy as well. He sat doublefolded, whimpering and bleeding on the privy more than once on the Navy ship. Or, _William Manderly_ did. Billy Bones was never tortured like that, not even before the name Bones became more of a joke than a suiting one to his frame. The pirates he’d heard were monsters, were the ones saving him from them. No one ever called him weak for what he’d suffered in captivity, but he fully understands Ned’s reluctance to be helped. Not seeing Billy’s face while it happens, spares him some humiliation.  
  
The worst thing, apart from the violation in itself, is that Ned truly doesn’t know who did it or why. In the world of Nassau, attacks from strangers are usually not a surprise, but when the target is a man, they rarely include rapes. If you’re a man, and a pirate and, added to that, a Captain, you just don’t get violated like this. The moment anyone finds out, you’re as good as dead, at least your position is.  
  
Maybe it’s a relief to loose it due to a simple mutiny in your absence, in comparison.  
  
Billy listens to the strangled sounds of pain without letting Ned feel the attention. When the gruesome ordeal is done, he removes the chamber pot and puts a piece of soaked and soaped linen cloth in Ned’s hand. Gotta keep the wound clean after all and while his lover mostly tries to resist or at least complain about the care, he silently accepts this one without a word. Billy keeps his back onto him, giving some privacy and when it’s finally done, Ned touches his shirt so that he can turn around and remove the items, covering his lover again.  
  
“You wanna sleep?”  
“No.”  
  
Billy takes out the chamber pot then, cleans his hands and then pours two cups, one with rum and one with ale. Ned is laying onto the side, visibly trying not to curl up his knees. It’s hard to watch someone like him, used to be free and wild, depending on no one, now struggling to accept that he can’t hide pain.  
  
Billy puts one of the cups to Ned’s lips, a reward, mostly, for the suffering and it’s accepted. Ned swallows and then sighs.  
  
“Getting bored…”  
“Could bring you some books.”  
  
Ned huffs.  
  
“Wouldna do much good, sailor. I cannae read, even if I remove this goddamn blindfold.”  
  
Billy is more than a little surprised and he frowns.  
  
“But… you’re a captain.”  
“Was. An’ not a particularly skilled one. I can interpret maps well enough.”  
“You sent me a letter though…”  
  
Billy is stunned and Ned chuckles.  
  
“Aye, written by Read.”  
“You trusted her to… even if you couldn’t read it yourself?”  
“Kept her secret, she had no reason to betray me.”  
“But… Your father, he never…?”  
“Ye’re a funny man, Billy Bones.”  
  
The blindfolded man grins.  
  
“Yer father printed bloody pamphlets, mine was a _thief._ The only thing I’ve ever needed to read, are people’s faces an’ movements.”  
“Your mother though?”  
“My dear mother, blessed be her soul, wouldna have dared to come close to a book. Women don’ need books, especially not if their husbands don’.”  
“Well… father always said everyone needs to know how to read and write. That words are what makes us… human.”  
“I’m an animal, sweet lad. Admittedly, my claws are a bit blunt at the moment, but…”  
  
_Sweet lad._ Billy smiles at the endearment disguised as a scorn. Blunt is a word that suits Ned with or without claws, but just because he’s a savage and can’t read, doesn’t mean he’s truly barbarous. He strokes the tangled hair and Ned makes a grimaze.  
  
“Sorry to disappoint ye, Mr. Bones.”  
  
Billy knows his lover’s ways of closing in, of protecting himself with words and illiterate or not, Ned is anything but stupid.  
  
“What was your favourite story as a child?”  
“Biddenden Maids…”  
“The cojoined sisters?”  
  
Ned raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Ye know about tha’?”  
“Grew up in Kensington, love. That’s part of London too. My parents mostly told me stories about underestimated heros, though.”  
“Such as?”  
“Johannes Gutenburg, inventor of the printing press.”  
  
The feral man is laughing now, the first one that sounds a little bit happy since the torture and Billy feels his own cheeks heat a bit. He’s missed Ned’s laughter.  
  
“Yer parents weren’t ones for romance, I take it?”  
  
Billy chuckles.  
  
“Not really, no. Father did teach me how to read and write, but he despised people who, as he put it, would waste their wits and time on poetry.”  
“Tha’s one thing I’m pretty certain mine would’ve agreed with.”  
“And one they’d both be wrong about. Let me read to you, Ned.”  
“Why?”  
“To pass time.”  
“More like wasting it…”  
  
It’s not a protest, just some mild complaining and Billy leans down to press a small kiss onto the tangled hair. Ned huffs but doesn’t turn away. In fact, he seems to have gotten a pinch of color on his cheeks again.  
  
**Ned Low**  
“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips’ red…”  
“The fuck is this…?”  
“Shh, you’re ruining the pace... If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;  
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head…”  
“Tits are… _done?_ ”  
“ _Dun_ , you idiot! Greyish-brown.”  
“Greyish-brown tits? Tha’ jus’ don’ make any sense…”  
  
His lover lets out an exasperated sigh.  
  
“You’re gonna interupt every sentence?”  
“Probably.”  
“You’re a brute, Captain.”  
“Not gonnae argue with ye on tha’. Keep going.”  
“Thought you said poetry is a waste of time.”  
“An’ I’ve got a lot o’ time to waste, so help me fucking waste it.”  
  
Waste time, muddle the pain, keep the thoughts of the gruesome past, vulnerable now and uncertain future at bay. Mostly, it’s just nice to hear Billy’s annoyed voice an feel his presence. Ned protests because he doesn’t have the words like his lover does and without the ability to use his body, violently or passionate, to stop him, Ned has to submit.  
  
He’s still too sore to lay in Billy’s arms quite like before, but he can lean onto him and that feels rather good as well, as long as he’s not feeling caged. Not being able to see is an obstacle that’ll be over in a while, but it makes you horribly dependent and Ned can’t recall ever trusting anyone to have his back. Billy quite literally has it now, reading bloody poems as if that’s perfectly alright to do with an illiterate, heartless killer scum from the ratinfested alleys of London.  
  
Ned’s cheek is pressed against the man’s chest, he can hear the heartbeats there, the ones he’s almost been able to pretend are mirroring his own. This is a body who’s never tried to intimidate or injure him. It knows violence, of course, but it’s not… made for it. Not like Ned’s always felt with his own body. Like a wild thing, either being hunted or hunting someone down. Never really resting, always on the run.  
  
Billy’s broad frame is calm, it’s strong and reliable. Ned can picture how easily those hands and arms could split a man’s skull with a single strike of a club. He’s felt the ease with which Billy can lift him up, pull him close, hold him down. Not a like hunter over his prey, no, but something… well, _else._  
  
Ned doesn’t understand all of the elaborated words and he’s never heard poetry like this, it doesn’t really speak to him, this foreign language only reminding him of the English tongue, but Billy’s voice does. Speak to him, that is. The gesture too, maybe. And silence would make the darkness worse, even if light stil hurts his vision and Ned doesn’t have enough words to explain all the ways he’s just too used to crawl down every dark path on his own. He seems to fall for the poems, or at least the tone and rhythm of them. They’re strangely… soothing.  
  
He wakes up, still nestled onto Billy’s chest. Night has come without Ned knowing it, because when he opens his eyes, he knows he must’ve fallen asleep while being read to and there are no threads of light seeping through the fabrics over his face, only wetness.  
  
He’s crying, it’s the second time Billy sees him cry and he doesn’t seem to judge. Not crying is as deeply rooted as keeping your back free, never letting anyone see you weak, no matter what. It was part of coming of age, to show father and his pack of thieves, and Richard, that he wouldn’t be broken. Not by hardship, not by blood. Tears were for the wee ones still wetting their breeches and for girls. Billy, how ever, just holds him gently.  
  
Perhaps the most strange thing about it, is that Ned doesn’t want to hide. He’s got no willpower left for it, not when Billy is this comfortable against all that hurts and the blindfold sucks up the tears well enough. Billy strokes his arm.  
  
“You started in your sleep, love… Had another bad dream, huh?”  
“No… Don’ think so…”  
“Can remove the blindfold now if you want to? It’s dark enough.”  
“Aye.”  
  
Good. Darkness means less weakness, less pain, and Ned takes the wet rag off, involuntarily hissing at the still too bright room.  
  
“Careful. Let met put the candles away first.”  
  
Billy removes the light to a safer distance, leaving the spot on the bed almost entirely in darkness, but the shadows from flickering flames are enough for Ned to see his face. Those dark, serious eyes who don’t see a monster, nor a cripple to be pitied. The man’s palm cups Ned’s left cheek, the uninjured one without a scar or a damaged eye. A callous thumb brushing it, the beard that’s grown too much and the wrinkles under the eye. He looks into it and just as Ned is about to shove him off, Billy looks away.  
  
“Need to, uhm… get rid of the lice.”  
  
Lice? Of course. Everything hurts, more or less, so the itching hasn’t bothered him too much. He’s not used soap in his hair for a very long time. Usually, he sticks to fresh water, it’s good enough but the days in the dungeon probably left little gifts of the biting kind. Ned doesn’t understand why Billy wants to bother with it, since they’re not sleeping with each other and the little devils don’t have much hair to nest in on the tall man.  
  
Ned shrugs, although it hurts his ribs. Billy’s already cleaned the rest of his body, after all.  
  
“I don’ mind. Ye do it if ye wannae. Or jus’ cut it all off.”  
“No.”  
  
Billy shakes his head.  
  
“I like your hair.”  
  
**Billy Bones**  
“Feel like some fancy lady… Ye’re ruining my reputation.”  
“You’re sure lice play a major part in the legend of Ned Low?”  
“Legend? Ye’re daft, lad.”  
  
Billy chuckles as he rinses the sulfur salve, that hopefully has killed the bugs and grabs the block of soap.  
  
“The last person who called me a daft lad, was Hal Gates, Flint’s quartermaster when I came to the crew.”  
“Soaped his hair as well?”  
“No. I climbed too high up in the riggings and froze in fear, couldn’t climb down.”  
“Ye’re a skilled rigger, though.”  
“Not when I was seventeen, I wasn’t.”  
  
Billy shakes his head at the memory.  
  
“Had been with the crew for a few months and wanted to show off, I guess. Climbing the riggings fast seemed like a good idea at the time, at noon and without enough water in my body.”  
“Tha’s daft indeed, aye. He whipped ye?”  
“Gates? Whipping me? God, no!”  
  
The very idea is as absurd as it’s repulsive and Billy starts getting the soap into Ned’s hair.  
  
“Gates was like a father to me. He… when they found me during the hunt, I was in a really bad shape. The first days, I was told, I tried to bite him or anyone else coming near.”  
“Ye were told?”  
“Well… the first few weeks after they rescued me are sort of… clouded. But I remember being scared to death for being touched.”  
  
Ned isn’t tensing under his hands, that’s good. It’s not a sweet memory to share, but important, or at least it feels like it is. Billy works up suds, massaging the scalp softly and judging by the small grunts and the way Ned’s neck goes loose, it doesn’t hurt. The skin over the spine is bruised, traces of a rope, of strangulation and Billy usually doesn’t get upset over these things because they belong to the life he chose, but Ned looks so thin, his neck fragile and the bones too prominent.  
  
Billy presses a kiss onto it in his thoughts and keeps washing the tangled, dirty tresses. The man sighs.  
  
“My father beat us senseless. Yers dinnae?”  
“Never. Took me over the knee a few times when I was little, of course, but he… Well, father prefered talking.”  
  
Ned snorts.  
  
“So did mine, only he never cared for answers. Think he felt right out insulted by the idea tha’ he wasn’t the only one with a tongue.”  
“Jesus…”  
“Oh, he dinnae like’im either. Don’ think the ol’ man liked anyone. Pretty sure he went around feeling constantly insulted… Like God had lied to’im, or something. Promised him shite an’ dinnae deliver.”  
“He got a son.”  
“Two. Neither much to be proud o’, but mother was a good to us.”  
“Yeah? Tell me about her?”  
  
There’s a hint of a smile, a genuine one, for the first time in days and the Billy’s brutish matelot, or whatever he is, softens a bit.  
  
“Myra. A fine woman… Well, for a daughter o’ a thief from the backallies o’ London, married to a slightly less successful thief. She was a good mother, bless her soul.”  
“She’s dead?”  
“Thank God. Did wha’ she could but father was a scum an’ I used to wonder why she ever married him. Realised later on tha’ she had to take wha’ was offered.”  
“As so many women. Can you bend your head backwards a bit?”  
  
Ned obeys and Billy starts rinsing the hair, it’s uneven and of shoulder length and Billy didn’t lie when saying that he likes it. The sun has bleached it over the years in southern waters and the color reminds of wet sand. He’d like to bury his nose in it again, but there are bruisings on the scalp and this isn’t the right moment for such gestures anyway.  
  
“Where did ye get all these items?”  
“Nassau, of course.”  
  
Ned hisses from a sore spot and Billy gentles his touch.  
  
“Ye’ve not left my side for days.”  
“I do have friends with legs, you know.”  
“An’ ye’re not worried they might jus’ take yer money an’ then sell ye out?”  
“What? To whom?”  
“Whoever put me in tha’ cell.”  
“Eleanor Guthrie?”  
  
Now he snorts again.  
  
“Miss Guthrie don’ have the tits for tha’.”  
“Uhm… Don’t you mean balls?”  
“If ye’d ever met a lass from my part o’ London, ye would know wha' I mean.”  
  
Billy smiles. He can’t help liking this and he dries the hair with a towel and pats his lap.  
  
“Lay down, you’re gonna get sore if you keep your neck like that for much longer.”  
  
Ned mutters something but obeys and with a little struggle, he’s laying down with his head onto the towel in Billy’s lap. Billy first takes the brush Idelle sent him along with the soap and other goods.  
  
“Alright then, Captain Low. Tell me about the girls from your part of town.”  
  
**Ned Low**  
He’s never actually seen Billy on a hunt, chasing a prize, splitting skulls open in the thunders of canons and smoking guns. Neither has Billy seen Ned slicing a father’s throat while his young son watches and cries, begging for him to let his father live. The hatred for _men_ he’s carried around like a glowing ember is still there, Ned can’t see how it couldn’t, or any reason for it to stop. Men are vile, violent, heartless beasts, destroying every thing of beauty they come across. That’s what the boys he killed would’ve become, had he not stopped them in time.  
  
Billy Bones is something else and images that Ned from own experience knows are very real, those painting his lover in blood and gore, can’t seem to shadow the softness of his hands.  
  
To Billy, violence is only the means to an end and never a goal in itself. To Ned, it’s the only reliable sign of knowing he’s alive and he’s been in pain for as long as he can remember. From beatings, from hunger, from hard work and crouched positions. Broken bones, burnt and scratched skin, tugged hair and a broken heart.  
  
A man splitting him apart in the dark, not as an aching need for relief, but for punishment. Ned refuses to think too much about it, his sometimes surprisingly rational mind sticking with a small surprise that he didn’t do Read more harm when helping with _her_ predicament. The man wasn’t too big either, but when your chained that doesn’t mean much.  
  
It’s the man’s anger Ned remembers most vividly, and how he seemed so filled with it, he had to keep himself in a leash. Had their roles been reversed, Ned would’ve skinned him alive without hesistance.  
  
A whore named Rebecca, ironically the same name as Ned’s first ship, has been killed and for some reason, the man thought Ned did it. Raping him sure was an unusual way of torturing him, but if he cared for a _whore_ , then maybe it’s apt. Despite the rumors, Ned rarely drags out a death. As long as he can see a man’s fear, see how he realises he’s weak and at Ned’s mercy, that’s enough. Sometimes that takes a while, though, and that’s where the torture comes well in hand. Ned has no idea how many men he’s sent whimpering to their graves, begging for mercy, because they’ve all carried his father’s face in those moments. They've become a single man.  
  
But rape. No, that’s never been his suit. The idea of forcing himself onto a woman – or a boy – is repulsive. He’s charmed unwilling women into coming to his bed, of course, but not with violence or threats. A few drinks, some smooth talking – yes, he’s good with that, even if the Guthrie woman didn’t fall for it – and then they’ve followed him willingly and departed, not with disgust but with sly smiles.  
  
He’s been sweet with them, as much as he’s been able to, of course, but the girls in the kind of taverns Ned’s frequented are a lot like the lasses in his hometown: crass, practical and anything but naïve. They don’t expect sweetness from him, they take what he can offer and that’s coin and a sort of pride in not being a lousy fuck. If you have to force yourself onto an unwilling girl to get your dick wet, you’re just a failure who should be flayed and hanged up as a figurehead on the ship.  
  
In a way then, Ned can understand why the man raped him. It’s not how _he_ should’ve punished a rapist, but it fits.  
  
Ned has known pain all his life, but nothing like that. It wasn’t quick either, and it happened more than once. The man was furious, lost in this need to punish, to retaliate and the chains and the darkness made all resistance futile. Ned had just hung there like a ragdoll, focusing on not giving away more weakness than he had to.  
  
He wishes Billy didn’t know, but as long as he’s not caring for _that_ wound while Ned is clearheaded, it’s almost tolerable. And now, as he’s combing his hair free of lice, Ned tells him about Esther with the green eyes and Betty who knew every dirty joke worth knowing. He tells him about Hannah, the baker’s daughter who bribed the boys with fresh buns if they put their fingers in her and how every lad on the street wanted to get their hands on the still young and sweet whore Charlotte’s tits.  
  
“We used to say we’d go to her as soon as we turned fourteen.”  
  
Ned chuckles.  
  
“Of course, we dinnae have coins so most o’ us only ever pretended we’d had her. Our father’s had had her, or, at least many o’ them, an’ we’d heard them talking at the tavern, so we could make up some good stories ourselves.”  
“And everyone knew they were mostly lies, right?”  
“Of course.”  
  
Billy snorts.  
  
“Guess my father had a girl sometimes too, but I think he was happy with my mother.”  
“How about her? Was she happy with him?”  
“I think so, yes. They bickered, of course, but never about anything serious. They never got violent or anything.”  
  
They’re from different worlds, not just different parts of town and Ned tilts to the side, almost nuzzling Billy’s thick thigh and the course fabrics there.  
  
“I think I saw father kiss mother on the cheek once. But he could’ve just leaned in to whisper something.”  
“Like what?”  
“Like, ‘ _if ye don’ come home with something this time, woman, I’ll throw ye in The Thames’_.”  
  
**Billy Bones**  
It’s been a strange night and Billy can’t even recall when he was on shore for this long, let alone away from the crew. He doesn’t miss the sea, he can hear the waves well enough from here and to his surprise, he’s not really missing his brothers either. Ned is clean now, not nearly as ragged and he even accepted help with a shave. His beard is short and neat, the hair smells good from soap as does his bruised body. It’s really funny how much some cleanliness can do to improve even a pirate’s appearance.  
  
He’s not bothered with giving Ned more clothes yet, not with the hassle of taking them on and off. A loose, grey shirt will do for now, for the sake of decency and in the darkness of the house without the need for a blindfold to protect Ned’s remaining eye, the Captain looks less feral than ever, leaned onto a pillow on the bed. Mostly he just seems tired and unwilling to pretend otherwise.  
  
“You’re cold?”  
  
Billy expects a no or a snort, but perhaps the weariness is taking over now and Ned just nods.  
  
“A wee bit.”  
“Want me to cover your eyes again?”  
“No… I’ve… missed seeing yer face…”  
  
Not everything rots in darkness. Not every darkness is a place for dark thoughts – or loneliness. Billy arranges them so that Ned rests on his arm and they can face each other under the blanket. The scarred face isn’t ugly to him, never has been, and the eye most people only see the poisoned version of, is still feral, still wild and partly lost in an old grief that doesn’t seem to heal, but the red pain is no longer it’s only focal point. The three lost faces, two of whom Ned will never see again in this life, are still there, but they don’t fill up his entire vision. There’s room for more.  
  
Billy strokes the cheek, the hair and the side of the marbled neck and he thinks of the women his lover has talked about.  
  
“Don’t you miss the usual, though? Being with a woman.”  
  
Ned snorts.  
  
“I’ve had my share an’ unless ye have objections, I can have more.”  
“What if I do have objections?”  
“Tha’s nothing ye need to worry about, Bones. Not while I’m in this condition.”  
  
Bones. Had Billy not learned to reckognize the defences so well these days, he’d been offended – and hurt – by Ned’s words, but he understands and they’ve not made any promises. Ned looks right at him.  
  
“Would ye prefer if I promised not to fuck anyone else?”  
“I want you to be happy, Ned.”  
“Tha’s a big ask, lovey.”  
“Well… how about I wish for you to not feel so fucking miserable then?”  
  
The feral man chuckles.  
  
“Such a damn practical man, aren’t ye, Mr. Bones?”  
“Someone has to be the practical one, Captain Low.”  
“A practical pirate who reads poetry and fucks men gently… Guess I should keep an eye on ye, so ye’re not getting lured off by some tavern wench or boy slut. Doubt there are plenty o’ yer kind in Nassau. Or the rest of the world…”  
“You still don’t get it, do you, Ned?”  
  
Billy isn’t disappointed nor surprised. He’s come to know more parts of the man he so strangely came across and how much love there is inside him and how it’s had nowhere to go for so long. He cups Ned’s cheek again, stroking his thumb over some of the hurt.  
  
“I’m not _her_ , Ned. I don’t try to take her place and I couldn’t even if I wanted to. She’s part of you, she’s right _here_ …”  
  
He puts his palm onto Ned’s chest.  
  
“Eliza is _in_ you, my sweet. She’s your wife, always will be, and you’ll always love her. No one can take that away, not me, not anyone else, man or woman. No matter what _I_ feel for you, I don’t ever want you to pretend to feel something for me that you don’t.”  
  
He swallows.  
  
“I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. The crew, a few years ago some of the betted on who’d catch me in and make me fall… Well, apparantly they didn’t get it either, love.”  
  
Billy smiles at the half-blind man who, unbeknownst holds his heart in his broken hands.  
  
“My fall has been for _you_ , Ned. Only you.”


End file.
